


Left Alone To Wander

by Thistlerose



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Sam Kirk hated his stupid baby brother's stinking guts, and one time he realized that he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Alone To Wander

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to Lauriegilbert and Old-blueeyes for beta reading.
> 
> Contains: Verbal abuse of a minor; threatened violence toward a minor; off-screen OC death; allusions to violence; teenage drinking and non-explicit making out; language.

**One: January, 2233**

In Sam Kirk's mind, his daddy was always a hero. He became one officially, which meant that people on the news called him one, on January 4th, 2233. That was the day he became Captain of the _USS Kelvin_ and saved over eight hundred people, including Sam's mommy. It was also the day he died.

And the day Sam's brother, Jim, was born.

It didn't make any sense to Sam. He was smart – he'd already read three books since Christmas, just like he'd promised his daddy – but at four years of age, he didn't quite grasp concepts like death and birth. He'd known for months that he was going to get a baby brother or sister, had seen images of his mommy's huge belly, and understood that there was an actual small _person_ in there, so that wasn't really a surprise. But his daddy had promised he'd come back.

And his daddy always kept his promises.

Always.

Sam was staying with his Aunt Donna, his mommy's cousin, when news of the _Kelvin_ tragedy reached the Federation planets. She held him in her lap and tried to explain. The Romulans had a really big ship, with more guns than the _Kelvin_. They killed Captain Robau. Sam's mommy and daddy were very brave. His mommy would be home soon, and she'd be bringing his new baby brother…

It didn't make any sense.

Clutching his toy rabbit, Sam kept looking at the carpet, at the way the winter sunlight turned the gold and brown vines blindingly bright. After a time, they seemed to move before his eyes, twisting and squirming, choking one another, and he found he couldn't look away, even when Aunt Donna asked him questions.

"Do you want me to make you some hot chocolate, Sammy? Sammy, do you understand what I'm saying?"

He didn't. He didn't. She told him his daddy wasn't coming back this time, but she was wrong.

His daddy had _promised._

When Aunt Donna and Uncle Todd took him to the Riverside Shipyard two weeks later, he looked around for his daddy. There weren't that many people, so he should have been easy to spot, but Sam didn't see him. Leaning as far forward as he could without letting go of his uncle's hand, Sam squinted and strained. Once, he caught sight of a tall, sandy-haired man in blue, and he got excited.

"There!" he shouted, tugging on his uncle's hand. "There, he's there!"

"Who's there?" said Uncle Todd, sounding confused.

"That's _him_!"

" _Who_? Sammy, I don't–"

But it wasn't his daddy, he realized a moment later, when the man stopped and flipped open his communicator, giving Sam a better view of his face. Crestfallen, Sam looked down at his feet. He had his new boots on. They were lined with something thick and soft on the inside, and sweat was pooling between his toes. He stamped his feet with irritation and impatience. The air was bitter cold; the wind stung his cheeks, but he was hot inside his jacket, the woolen scarf made his neck itch and he couldn't scratch it because he had his mittens on and _where was his daddy?_

He didn't see his mommy approach, didn't know she was standing right over him until she said, "Sammy?"

He looked up. The sun was behind her, turning her hair bright yellow, but making her face seem dark. "Oh, Sammy." She sank to her knees on the cold earth, and put an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close against her. "Sammy, Sammy." He felt her rapid heartbeat through the layers and layers of fabric, and his own began to speed up. "Buddy, I missed you so much."

He clung to her, burying his face in her coat. She smelled exactly the way he remembered: soft and sweet. For some reason, that made his throat fill up with something thick and bitter.

"Sammy," his mommy said. "Look up, buddy. There's someone I want you to meet."

He shook his head.

"Don't you want to meet your brother? This is Jim. Jimmy."

Sam turned his head and looked at the thing he'd been studiously ignoring – the tiny blanket-swathed form his mommy held in the crook of her other arm. He saw a pink, rumpled face, folded lips shiny with spittle, closed eyes, a few wisps of pale hair poking out from under the knit hat. Something unpleasant curled in his belly.

"We're going to have to take care of him," Sam's mommy said. "You and me. It's just us now. We're going to take really good care of him, and you two are going to be such good friends. Just like your daddy wanted." Her voice trembled.

That was the moment that Sam understood. Finally. His daddy wasn't here. He wasn't coming back. He'd broken his promise. That was what death meant.

He didn't cry. As he stood there, leaning against his mommy, staring at his baby brother, the January air stinging his cheeks, Sam experienced a feeling he couldn't name. The concept of resentment, of deep, deep anger was as alien to him as the ideas of birth and death had once been.

It wasn't fair. He'd wanted a little brother, but he loved his daddy and he wanted him back. If he could have traded Jimmy for his daddy, he would have.

 

 **Two: February, 2235**

"Sam? Sammy, wake up. I need you."

He'd been deep asleep and dreaming, but at the sound of his mom's voice and the gentle but insistent pressure of her hand on his shoulder, Sam roused himself. His mom was bent over his bed, a dark figure silhouetted by the light pouring in from the hallway.

"Whah time'zzzit?" he mumbled, pushing himself up.

"Late," his mom said. "Or early. I don't know. I need you to do something for me, buddy. I need you to get up, get your shoes and socks, and your jacket. Meet me by the front door, okay?"

Sam rubbed at his eyes. "Huh?"

"Your brother's very sick, and we need to take him to the hospital. Come on, Sam. Quickly."

She tugged the blankets away and the cold air hit him. He tensed. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to go anywhere. He'd been dreaming about the time he went to the circus with his mom and dad. He wanted to go back to that time, before his dad broke his promise, and before stupid Jimmy – who'd been fussing and crying all evening.

"Come on, Sam," his mom said, taking hold of his hands and pulling him up. "Time to go."

While his mom ran down the hall to get Jimmy – who was screaming his head off – Sam sullenly pulled on his heavy jacket and shoved his feet into his boots. He waited at the front door like he'd been told, and after a few moments, his mom came hurrying down the staircase with Jimmy writhing in her arms. She wore a coat over her pajamas, really just a gray Starfleet Academy sweatshirt and sweatpants, and she had a bag slung over her shoulder. Sam could see things sticking out of it: diapers, a pillow.

"We gonna be there long?" he asked as his mom opened the front door and ushered him out into the cold February pre-dawn.

"I don't know," she said. They walked briskly toward the garage. "Maybe."

"Can I get my rabbit? I'll be real quick."

She opened the garage door, and nudged him in the direction of the hovercar. "Sorry, buddy, there isn't any time."

He waited, leaning against the hovercar while she strapped Jimmy into his baby-seat. It took a few minutes because Jimmy kept kicking her hands. "I coulda gotten Rabbit," he pointed out when she finally told him to hop in.

"What, buddy? Here, take this," she said after he buckled himself in. It was a wet sponge. "Just dab his forehead and his neck. Oh, God, he's so hot."

"I _said_ –" Sam began, but his mom had all but thrown herself into the hovercar's front seat and started the engine. With a sigh, he sagged against own seat. Water from the sponge dripped down his hands, into the sleeves of his jacket. Jimmy continued to shriek. "Shut up," Sam muttered. "Shut _up_."

His mom drove fast. Sam watched the traffic lights as they fell away behind them. After a time, his vision blurred, and the individual lights seemed to bleed into one another, becoming ribbons of red, green, gold, and white against the black sky. Detachment slipped over him, and he thought that if Jimmy would just _shut up_ , he could sink back into his dream. But Jimmy didn't shut up. He kept crying and flailing with his chubby fists, and Sam wanted to stuff the sponge into his mouth.

At the hospital, some nurses whisked Jimmy away, and his mom hurried after them, instructing to him to wait for her, promising she'd be right back. The woman behind the desk was nice and let him sit there with her. She gave him an electronic tablet and stylus, but he didn't feel like drawing, so he just curled up on a chair, his knees tucked against his chest, and waited.

He didn't know how much time passed before his mom came back for him. It might have been just a few minutes, but it felt much longer.

"Hey," she said, touching his shoulder. "Come on. C'mere."

"Can we go now?" he asked, sliding off the chair. She caught him as he sagged and started leading him down a corridor.

"Sorry, buddy," she said. "They want to keep Jimmy here overnight. I'm going to stay with him, but I can call someone to come pick you up. Maybe Donna and Todd. Or your Uncle Frank?"

Sam shook his head. He didn't want to stay in the hospital, which had too many lights and smelled weird. But he balked at the idea of going home with one of his relatives. Donna and Todd had a baby now, and they were always fussing over her. Uncle Frank was fun sometimes, but he got angry and yelled when things didn't go exactly right.

"Buddy?" his mom said when they reached the turbolift.

"I'll stay," he said with a shrug.

"It might be boring."

He shrugged again.

"Okay." She gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze as they took the 'lift up to Pediatrics.

Sam was mildly surprised to find his brother asleep when they got to his room; he'd thought Jimmy would never shut up. He lay very still on a biobed, and there was a needle in his arm. The needle was connected to a bag of clear liquid by a long, skinny tube.

"What's that?" Sam asked, pointing.

"That's an IV."

"Is that water?"

"Nope. Saline. C'mere, buddy." She'd taken off her coat and dropped it onto a cot that Sam hadn't noticed when he'd first entered the room. The pillow she'd brought from home was there. "Oh, you're dead on your feet."

"No'm not."

"Yeah, you are." She put her hands under his armpits and hoisted him onto the cot. He lay down on his side, and she draped her coat over him like a blanket. "There you go." She stroked his hair. "Comfy?"

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry."

"How come Jimmy needs saline?"

"Because he's pretty dehydrated. Do you know what that means?"

"No."

"It means he doesn't have enough water. You know how, after you've been playing outside in the sun for a while, I make you cool off and drink something?"

"Yeah."

"It's because I don't want you to get dehydrated."

"Oh." He looked across the room at Jimmy. "If he stopped crying, he could've drank something."

"Well, he also had a very high fever. That was making him pretty uncomfortable."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"He's going to be fine." She kissed the top of his head. "Thanks for getting ready so quickly, and not complaining. You were really great. A good big brother. Your daddy would've been proud. I owe you, buddy."

He didn't feel great, though. In fact, he felt pretty rotten. As he watched Jimmy sleep, he thought, _Why can't he stay like that?_ and he remembered how he'd felt in the hovercar, how he felt whenever Jimmy got sick or had an allergic reaction to something: _Shut up. I hate you. Go away._

He wasn't a good big brother at all. His daddy would not have been proud.

 

 **Three: October, 2241**

From the time he was three, Jim was like a walking encyclopedia on their dad. "Daddy used to do this," he'd say, or "Daddy was really good at that." At first, he just parroted things their relatives said. Then, he started coming up with details Sam had never heard before. "Daddy's favorite book was _Treasure Island._ " "Daddy had a turtle when he was six. When I'm six, I'm gonna get a turtle."

Like he'd actually known him. Sam, who was starting to forget specific things about their dad, couldn't exactly contradict him – but he yelled anyway. Or gave him dirty looks. Or hit him, if their mom wasn't around.

"Don't talk about him, okay?" he'd snap. "You're gonna make Mom really sad if she hears you. And then she's gonna hate you." He couldn't resist adding that, even though the words made his stomach hurt a little. "Anyway, you didn't even know him. You just know stuff about him from books and the Net. You were born like twenty seconds before he died!"

Those twenty seconds.

Sam started to get really curious about his dad's last moments around the time he turned ten. He knew his mom and dad had talked right before the _Kelvin_ collided with the Romulan ship, because that was when they'd picked Jim's name. Had they talked about anything else? Had they mentioned _him_ at all? He wondered these things, but he didn't dare ask anyone, and he never tried to look it up. He was a little afraid of the answer. Not that he thought his dad would've forgotten about him, but his dad knew he was going to die really soon, and he must have been scared. Everyone said he was really brave, but maybe they were just saying that. If Sam had only seconds left to live, he figured he'd probably cry.

If his dad had cried, he decided, he didn't want to know.

Sam found out the truth one night in mid-October, when he was twelve and Jim was eight, and they were staying at Uncle Frank's house because their mom was working on some research project on Regula One. It was a crisp night, but Sam had left the window open a crack because the breeze carried the smell of woodsmoke and cedar, which he liked. He'd just closed his sketchpad and was getting comfortable under his quilt when Jim leaned down from the top bunk and said, "Sam, look at this."

"Look at what?" Sam grumbled, turning his face away.

"Fine, _listen._ I just decrypted something. I think it's Dad."

A second later, the wails of an infant filled the small bedroom. "That's me!" exclaimed Jim. "Sam, that's me!"

A chill washed over Sam. He clutched at the quilt. "Turn it off," he said.

"Sam, listen."

" _What is it?_ " said a man, and Sam's throat closed up because he hadn't heard that voice in more than eight years.

" _It's a boy._ "

"Turn it off," Sam said again.

" _A boy! Tell me about him._ "

"They're talking about me," said Jim, like Sam needed commentary.

" _He's beautiful._ " Their mom sounded awed, but very tired. And sad. " _George, you should be here._ "

Another feminine voice said, " _Impact alert._ "

" _What are we going to call him?_ " Sam's dad asked.

Sam pushed back the quilt and jumped out of bed. "I said turn it off!"

Jim looked down at him. In the bluish light from the PADD, his face was ghostly, his eyes huge and dark.

" _We can name him after your father._ "

" _Tiberius? Are you kidding? That's–_ "

Sam didn't hear the rest of the line. He jumped up and grabbed the PADD out of Jim's hands.

"Hey!"

"I said…"

"Give it back! Sam!" Jim swung off the bed and landed lightly on his bare feet. He tried to take the PADD back, but Sam held it over his head. "Come _on!_ "

"Come _on_ ," Sam mocked, looking down at Jim.

In the brief silence that followed, their mom said, " _–Jim it is._ "

" _Sweetheart, can you hear me?_ "

" _I can hear._ " There was a half-wild note in their mom's voice. Sam's arm trembled.

" _I love you so much. I love you–_ "

And that was it. The end of the recording. Sam stood there, his heart beating a painful staccato against his ribs. He stood there until his elbow and wrist began to throb. Then he lowered his arm. Jim reached for the PADD.

Suddenly a howl tore through Sam. He jerked the PADD away from Jim and hurled it against the wall, where it cracked. As the pieces clattered to the floor, Jim screamed, "You broke it! You _broke_ it! I'm gonna tell–"

The sound of heavy footsteps shut up him. From the hallway outside the bedroom, Uncle Frank demanded, "What the hell was that? What did you break?" The door banged open and the light flashed on. Frank stood in the doorway, an imposing figure, even in just a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, his dark hair awry. He pointed at the shards on the floor. "What's that?"

"Jim's PADD," said Sam. Aware of his brother's gaze, he swallowed. "He broke it."

"Well, he can clean it up. Now. And I don't wanna hear a peep out of either one of you. It's late, and I gotta drop you off at school on my way to work. Do you hear me? Not a peep." He closed the door.

"You lied," Jim said like he couldn't believe it.

"It's still your fault."

Sam turned away and climbed back into bed. He pulled the quilt up to his shoulder. After a minute he said, "Are you cleaning?"

" _Yes._ " Jim sounded sulky.

"How come I don't hear you?"

"How come you're a _jerk_?"

"Just hurry up and turn the light off, stupid. I wanna go to sleep."

Sam closed his eyes, and in a moment he heard Jim gathering up the pieces of his PADD. He let out a long sigh, one that had some trouble getting around the thickness in his throat. A tear rolled down his cheek and splashed the pillow. Another followed it. Then another.

"Sam?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and lay perfectly still. He didn't want Jim to know he was still awake, or that he was crying.

"I think I can fix it, Sam. If I can fix it, I won't tell Mom."

Sam bit his lips to hold onto the sob that bubbled in his throat. Jim couldn't fix anything that really mattered, not now that he knew the truth. His dad had been very brave in his last few seconds. He hadn't cried.

And he hadn't mentioned Sam. Not once. Not even, "Tell Sam I love him" or "Tell Sam goodbye." All he'd talked about was Jim.

His dad hadn't thought about him at all.

 

 **Four: June, 2245**

By the time he made it back to the farmhouse, Sam felt as if his lungs had been shredded. There was a painful knot in his side, and sweat poured down his forehead, stinging his eyes and salting his upper lip. He stumbled to a halt when he saw his uncle coming toward him, a dark blur that seemed to rise up and up before Sam's sun-dazzled eyes. He clutched his side and drew a shaky breath.

"My car!" Frank bellowed. "My fucking car, Sam! What the fuck did your goddamn piece-of-shit brother do with it? Huh? Talk to me!"

"I don't know!" The words rasped in Sam's throat. He looked at his boots, which were gray with dust from the road. He couldn't look at Frank. "I don't know."

"The hell you don't."

"I don't! I swear! I don't know," he protested when Frank grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him a rough shake. "I don't know, I don't know."

"You told him to do it. You gave him the idea."

"I didn't. I swear I didn't, I–" But maybe he had. _It's impossible to be a Kirk in this house. Show me how to do that, and I'll stay._ That was what he'd said to Jim when he'd tried to talk him out of running away.

Show me how to be a Kirk.

Oh, fuck.

Frank shoved him aside. "If there's so much as a scratch on that car when he gets back here… How the hell did he learn to drive, anyway? You taught him."

Sam shook his head. "He's just … smart."

"Too smart for his own good."

Sam couldn't argue with that.

"Thought you were running away."

"I was."

"Told you you wouldn't get far."

Sam tasted bile, but swallowed it back. "I was worried about Jim," he mumbled.

"Well, you should be."

Sam stared across the flat landscape. Beyond the dirt road that led past the quarry and the shipyard, into Riverside, wheat fields stretched endlessly. The sky was stunningly blue, the sun high and white. There was no breeze. Each blade of yellowed grass, each stalk of wheat appeared frozen in place. Sam felt frozen too, though the sweat continued to drip down him, pooling in his socks and underwear.

Their shadows were growing long and thin when the police officer finally pulled up in front of the farmhouse on his hover-bike, Jim seated behind him. As soon as they stopped, Jim slid off the bike and pulled off the helmet he must have borrowed from the officer. He looked fine, Sam thought somewhat dazedly. He looked – different. Something about the way he stood, the set of his jaw.

"Francis Raeburn?" said the officer.

"Frank," answered Sam's uncle. Sam saw the look he shot at Jim. It wasn't pretty, but Jim seemed unconcerned.

"Mister Raeburn, I'd like to speak with you."

"Where's my car, Jim?"

"That's one of the things I need to talk to you about," said the officer.

Frank's face darkened, but he managed to spit out, "You boys – inside. Now."

As they walked toward the house, Sam hissed, "You're so going to get it. You better not have damaged the car. It's the only thing he really gives a shit about."

"It wasn't his car," Jim said in an airy tone that made Sam's stomach muscles clench. "It was Dad's. If he wants it back so bad, he can pick the pieces out of Riverside Quarry himself."

They'd reached the screen door. Jim turned the knob, but Sam held the door closed. " _What?_ "

"You heard me." Jim knocked his hand aside and opened the door.

Sam followed him into the kitchen, his ears ringing with disbelief. "You pushed Uncle Frank's car into Riverside Quarry."

Jim walked to the fridge and opened it. "I drove it over the edge," he said. Sam couldn't see his face, but he was still using that nonchalant tone that made him feel vaguely sick. "I jumped out at the last second. Obviously. I didn't mean to wreck the car. I didn't realize the quarry came up so soon. The cop surprised me and…" He shrugged, then glanced over his shoulder. "You're all red. What, did you run back here? Here, have some lemonade."

He took a bottle from the fridge and held it toward Sam.

"You idiot," Sam said, slamming the door to the fridge. "You fucking idiot. Are you crazy? Frank is going to kill you."

Jim's expression changed abruptly. His shoulders tensed, his features screwed up, and he shouted, "I don't care! I don't care, I'm sick of him. He's an idiot, and he deserved it. It wasn't his car. It was Dad's, like you said. Frank's mean and he's stupid and he deserved it!"

"Shut up!"

"No! I thought you hated him too."

"I do. But, oh my _God_ , Jim–"

"I thought you'd be proud. I thought you hated him. You said show you how to be a Kirk, and you'd stay. You said–"

Jim's voice had been rising steadily. It finally broke on a note that was almost shrill. His face was red, and tears glittered at the corners of his eyes.

"I didn't mean be an idiot," snapped Sam. "You think that's what Dad would've done? You think he'd've just driven off and left his family, left…" _Me_ , he thought.

"Isn't that what _you_ did? I didn't know you were coming back. I thought you were leaving too. Anyway, how do _you_ know what Dad would've done? You didn't know him either! You were four when he died. You didn't know him. And if you're so angry, why'd you come back?"

Sam felt liked he'd been punched. He stared at his brother. Emotions surged through him: anger primarily, but some fear as well. Jim, he sensed, was changing before his eyes, becoming a person Sam didn't know and couldn't understand. And beneath the anger and the fear there was something else, something he couldn't name, but it made his eyes sting. "That's a good question," he said.

The screen door banged open. Sam flinched. Frank came into the kitchen, his face contorted with rage, his finger pointed at Jim. "You–" he began.

For a second, Sam was seized by an insane impulse to step between Frank and Jim. Jim was his brother, his baby brother, and Frank was going to hurt him.

"You're gonna pay for that car, you little shit. You hear me? I'm gonna work your ass so hard–"

"I don't care," Jim shot back. "That wasn't your car, it was my dad's car."

"Your dad's been dead for twelve years! _Twelve years._ Get that through your head. Nothing belongs to him, not that car, not you. You are mine now, Jim, mine until my goddamn sister gets back and takes you off my hands for good. Until then, though, oh boy…" He advanced as he spoke, but Jim didn't back up. He stood there, feet apart, shoulders squared, chin high. "Oh boy," Frank said when he was standing directly over Jim. "You're gonna pay what you owe. From sunup to sundown, you are gonna be out there working. And if I ever hear so much as a peep out of you, I'm gonna beat you so hard…"

" _Try_."

The word came from Jim's mouth, but Sam barely recognized the voice. With eerie detachment, it occurred to him that his brother was a rather absurd figure as he faced down their uncle with a bottle of lemonade in his hand. Still, he seemed to fill the small space, which was becoming steeped with burnished light and shadows as the sun sank further.

It occurred to Sam as well that Jim and Frank had forgotten his presence entirely. If he left now, no one would notice. No one would even care. He could be in Riverside in an hour, sooner if he managed to hitch a ride. From there, he could get transport to Idaho, where his Grandpa Tibe had a ranch. No one would miss him.

Sam walked quietly to the front door. His hand on the knob, he paused, but didn't look back. Frank and Jim were still yelling, oblivious. Frank wouldn't hurt Jim, Sam told himself. Their uncle had a bad temper and he was really pissed off now, but he wouldn't hit Jim. He'd work him hard and tell him over and over again that he was worthless, but…

 _Why do I even care?_

He pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool evening air.

 

 **Five: June, 2245 – March, 2246**

Sam made it to Idaho easily enough. His Grandpa Tibe took him in on the condition that he let his mom know his whereabouts, make himself useful around the ranch, and enroll at the local high school. At first, it was good to have something to do, to take his mind off the rest of his family. Then Sam decided that he liked working with horses. More than that, he liked working with Claudia Two Otters, a girl from Spokane who was interning on Tiberius Kirk's ranch before starting a degree in veterinary medicine.

She was only about a year older than Sam, and he flirted bashfully while he followed her around. If she'd told him she had a boyfriend or girlfriend back in Spokane, or hinted that he was kind of young and obnoxious, he'd have shut up. But she didn't seem to mind. "At least your face doesn't scare the horses," she said; it took him about a few days of brooding, and much eye rolling from his grandpa, to interpret that as a compliment. By the end of the summer, they were kissing.

The first time they made out, it was a rainy September afternoon. Feeling bold, Sam swiped two bottles of hard cider from his grandpa's fridge and carried them up to the hayloft, where he knew Claudia was stretched out on an old blanket, reading. She smiled when she saw him, closed her book, and waved him closer. He knelt on the scratchy blanket and handed her a bottle.

The first sip of cider sent bubbles up his nose, and he had to look away so she wouldn't see his grimace. The second sip tickled the back of his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Then her slender hand was on his cheek, turning him back toward her, and her lips were pressed to his. He dropped his bottle, splashing them with cider.

"I'm sor–" he began, but she cut him off with another kiss, her hands going to the front of his jeans. He flushed because he was already hard, but she unzipped him gently. Then she was wriggling out of her jeans, and before he knew it, they were rolling around on the blanket while the rain beat a staccato rhythm on the roof slats, and the scent of hay and horses filled the dark air.

Later, Sam lay awake in bed, listening to the rain and staring at the ceiling. He breathed deeply, and was surprised by how good that simple act felt. _My life is all right_ , he thought. He couldn't remember the last time he'd thought that, if he'd ever thought it.

His mom contacted him periodically and asked him to come home. She was planetside again, and she wouldn't be given another assignment for at least a year. She missed him. She'd cut her brother out of her life and would never leave her boys with him again. Each time they talked, Sam caught an undercurrent of panic in her tone. Finally, in early December, he just asked: "What's Jim doing?"

His mom flashed him a smile and tugged a hand through her short blond curls. " _I'm that transparent, huh? He's developed a rebellious streak. I guess it comes of being almost thirteen and being without a real parent for too long. I mean, someone who_ acted _like a parent. Though you were good._ "

 _How would you know?_ Sam thought. _You weren't even there._ But he just sighed and said, "What's Jim doing?"

" _He just seems so moody. Restless, I guess. And I don't blame him. There isn't a whole lot for a brilliant kid to do around here. When I was his age, I thought I'd go crazy. But he_ could _do something constructive with his time. Instead of … hanging around wherever it is he goes and won't tell me. You know, his school is doing_ Julius Caesar _in the spring. Jim told me he auditioned. I got my hopes up. A week later he told me they offered him the role of Antony, and he turned it down. I don't understand._ "

"Maybe he wanted to be Brutus," Sam said.

" _Maybe. I don't know. I'm trying to figure out what to do with him when I head back into space. Donna and Todd are looking for work off-planet, and they offered to take him. But they already have one teenager on their hands, and it doesn't seem fair, handing them another one. I'd ask your grandpa if he'd take Jim, but he and I don't exactly get along…_ "

"I don't want Jim to come here." He knew he sounded petulant, but he didn't care. This was _his_ place, and he didn't want to share it. "I wouldn't have time for him, anyway," he added when his mom gave him a pained look. "I'm really busy. With school, and stuff on the ranch. I'm taking drawing lessons, too. Not at school. I'm taking them with an actual artist, and she thinks I'm good. And I have a girlfriend. She's leaving for college in January and I want to spend time with her. Jim would just get in the way."

" _Okay._ " She gave him a wan smile. " _I'm glad you're doing okay, buddy. I miss you. I think Jim misses you too._ "

"I don't miss him," said Sam.

He finally talked to Jim in March. He didn't want to. He was already in a bad mood. But when he got home from school, he saw that he had a comm request, and he answered it without bothering to check the requestor's ID.

Jim had changed in the seven-plus months since Sam had last seen him. He looked like he'd grown about half a foot, but he hadn't put on much weight, so he was skinny. His shoulders were hunched slightly, his hair was cropped short, and his acne was bad, worse than Sam's had ever been.

Still, his smile was sunny, and he said, " _Hey, Sam_ ," like he was actually glad to see him.

"Hey," Sam answered, dropping his backpack and sinking into his desk chair.

Jim's expression changed abruptly. " _What's wrong_?"

The question, laced with unfeigned concern, caught Sam off-guard. "Nothing," he said.

" _C'mon, Sam, this is me. You can't fool me. You look like someone stole your girlfriend._ "

Sam tried not to react, but he felt the blood rush to his face, and he had to look away from the screen.

" _Aw, shit, Sam. I'm sorry. When did that happen?_ "

"Few weeks ago."

" _Asshole_."

"Fuck you."

" _Not you, dumb-ass._ " Jim's tone was withering. " _The guy who stole her._ "

Sam shrugged. "She says he's nice. He's a year older than she is, and he's really smart. Apparently."

" _So? You shouldn't give up, if you really like her, Sam. You're not stupid. Anyway, Mom said you're looking at colleges. Why not just go where she is?_ "

Sam looked back up at the screen. "Because I don't have the grades for fucking Cornell. And because following her across the country would be creepy." Not that he hadn't fantasized about it: showing up at her dorm one night after punching out the new boyfriend. Not that she was likely to take him back if he did that, but it was a fantasy for fuck's sake. "Anyway," he added because the look on Jim's face was really starting to annoy him, "I don't think I'd like it there. It's too far away."

At that, Jim's eyes went wide. " _Too_ far _? Are you crazy? That's like … two thousand miles. That's_ nothing. _And you call yourself a Kirk. But, you know what? Don't worry. You'll find someone else. There are_ so _many pretty girls out there._ " He was thirteen and he sounded like a seasoned adventurer. If Sam hadn't been so pissed off, he might have laughed. " _I'm dating this girl, Helene. Sam, she's…_ "

"Pretty?" Sam supplied stonily.

" _So pretty! She's like…_ " He appeared to be groping for words, which was rather amazing; Sam had rarely seen Jim at a loss. " _She has big brown eyes, and freckles, and blond hair. And her body… Sam, her breasts are like…_ " He clutched a pair of invisible oranges to his chest. " _She let me touch 'em. She kept her bra on, but…_ "

"She sounds pretty, all right. Pretty stupid. If she's going out with you, I mean. You're ugly and annoying."

Jim scowled, but only for a moment. He stuck his tongue out at Sam. " _I have skills. But you're right, actually. She's not very smart. I thought it wouldn't matter, but it does. Making out with her is fucking awesome, and she's good at sports, but we can't really talk about anything interesting. I'm gonna break up with her before I leave, but even if I weren't…_ "

"Where are _you_ going?" _And wherever it is, could you please stay there? Assuming it's far away,_ Sam thought.

" _Nobody told you? I'm going to Tarsus IV with Donna, Todd, and Jenny. It's a Federation colony. They need programmers, so that's why Donna and Todd are going. Mom's sending me with them because she doesn't know what else to do with me._ " He rolled his eyes. " _I mean, she's going back into space on the_ Saratoga _, and she isn't talking to Frank the Asshole, so I can't stay with him, not that I'd want to. And Grandpa Tibe can't take me._ "

He ended on a curious note, as if he were asking a question rather than making a statement. Their mom, Sam realized, hadn't told Jim what he'd said back in December, about not wanting him to come to Idaho. He hadn't really thought she would, but he was faintly relieved.

" _But that's okay,_ " Jim prattled on. " _I mean, Donna and Todd aren't the most exciting people in the world, and Jenny's Jenny, but Idaho sounds so boring. And who wants to hang around with Grandpa Tibe? I mean, he's old and cranky. Tarsus'll be great. It'll be cool, going into space. Everyone always said I'd go back there, since I was born there._ "

Anger swiftly chased away the relief. "So, what about me? I was born in Iowa. Does that mean I'm destined to go back there and stay there?"

Jim blinked. Then a smile spread slowly across his face. " _Shit, Sam. I didn't even think of that. Too bad for you, huh?_ "

"Yeah." All Jim wanted to do was talk about himself. That was why he'd commed. He didn't give a shit about Claudia, or anything having to do with Sam. All he ever thought about was himself, his special birth and his special fucking destiny. "So, when are you going?"

Jim seemed oblivious to the shift in Sam's mood. " _In June, a couple of weeks after the semester ends. Don't know what I'm going to do for those two weeks._ "

"You'll think of something," Sam said bitterly. "Since you're so smart. Have fun in space."

 

 **And One: November, 2247**

He still dreamed about his dad. Not as often as he used to, since he had so much on his mind these days – college classes, the soccer team, new friends, the girl in his drawing class who'd smiled at him over her sketchpad – but every now and then. The dreams themselves were great because he got to be a kid again, with both his parents to himself, but he always woke up sad. His dad always appeared so clearly in his dreams; awake, he had trouble remembering the exact shade of his eyes, or the sound of his laughter.

That particular night, Sam dreamed his dad was carrying him piggyback, over snowy hills. His dad held him firmly by the ankles, and Sam grasped fistfuls of his dad's sandy hair. He didn't know where they were going, but that was all right; the air was sharp and sweet, inhaling was like biting into a perfect apple. The clouds were gentle wisps of rose and lavender, and there were birds overhead: geese making their way south.

 _Do you see him, Sammy?_ his dad asked, his head tipped back slightly.

 _See who?_ Sam craned his neck until it ached, but all he saw was sky. Sometimes, if it was a really clear night and the moon was thin, you could see a starship in geosynchronous orbit. His parents had a big telescope, and they let him look through it. The starships were like white swans floating through the blackness. But it was still too light to see anything.

 _I don't see him up there, Sammy. I'm worried._

 

"Sam? Hey, Sam. Wake up." His roommate, Rakesh, was poking his shoulder.

"Fuck off," Sam muttered into his pillow.

"Come on, man, it's your grandfather. He's on the comm and he says it's urgent."

"Fuck." Sam sat up, kicking the blanket away. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"He just said it was urgent. And hey, don't be pissed at me; I'm just the messenger. Want me to step out?"

Sam nodded as he rolled off the bed and padded across the small dorm room to his desk. The comm unit was lit up, his grandpa's face filling the small screen. As fogged as he was with sleep, he could see that the old man was ashen. "What is it?" He dropped into his desk chair as something cold and sharp as a blade slashed right through his heart, numbing him. "What happened to Jim?"

* * * *

There was no official report yet from Starfleet. Grandpa Tibe had learned the story from Winona, whose ship had been among the first to respond to the distress call from Tarsus IV.

More than four thousand people were dead, among them Sam's Aunt Donna, Uncle Todd, and Cousin Jenny. Jim had survived, though he was very ill, or badly injured – or both. Grandpa Tibe wasn't clear on the details. All he knew, all he could tell Sam was that Winona was with Jim at a Starfleet medical facility, and she would be bringing him home as soon as he was strong enough to travel.

"Home?" Sam echoed. He wondered if he was still dreaming. It seemed possible. He felt as if he'd slipped out of his body; when he glanced at the hand curled around his knee, he hardly recognized it. He twitched his fingers experimentally.

"To Iowa," his grandpa said. His voice sounded thin and raw. "Asked again if she wanted to bring the boy here, but she said no, just that she'd comm when she had an update."

"Why didn't she comm me?"

"I don't know, Sam. Maybe she forgot you're at the U of Idaho. Maybe she didn't have your frequency."

"Well, did she _ask_? Never mind." The answer wasn't hard to guess. It brought him back to reality with a chilling jolt. "What should I do? I don't know what to do."

"There's nothing you can do right now, Sam. 'Less you want me to come get you. I can, you know."

Sam glanced at the clock at the top right corner of his computer screen. It was just after one in the morning. "N-no. It's okay."

"You _sure_ , Sam? It's not a problem."

"I'm sure." He wasn't sure about anything, except that he couldn't look his grandpa – or anyone else – in the eye.

"Damn, I should've waited to tell you. But I thought you'd want to know, just in case something came up on the news before I had a chance…"

Sam's head bobbed absently; his gaze was still fixed to the clock on his computer. Seconds slipped by. Minutes. He was just sitting there doing nothing, and his aunt, uncle, and cousin were _dead_ , and Jim…

 _We're going to have to take care of him,_ his mom had said once, a long, long time ago. _We're going to take really good care of him._

"I want to go home." The voice was high and childish, but he knew it was his.

"Home to _Iowa_? There's no one there, kiddo. Winona said it would probably be a few more days, and then there's travel time…"

"I don't care." Sam sat straighter in his chair, though he still avoided his grandpa's eyes. "I should be there. Someone should be there when they get back. I need to be responsible. It's what Dad would've wanted."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw the deep lines on the gray face slacken. They never talked about his dad. His grandpa didn't talk much, period, but George Kirk might never have existed for all the mention he got. "Sam," Grandpa Tibe said in a strange, faltering voice. "Your father…"

"Went where he was needed. I'm eighteen now. I can rent a hovercar."

"At _this_ hour? Sam, no. Let me come get you. I can drive you down to Iowa tomorrow."

It was a generous, even selfless offer; Grandpa Tibe almost never traveled, except to horse shows. But Sam shook his head vehemently. He didn't want help or company. He didn't deserve it. Very clearly he said, "I have to go alone. I just do."

His grandpa let out a breath. "All right. You're an adult now. Just promise me you won't go tearing off in the middle of the night. Wait until morning. And take a shuttle, for God's sake; it's a long drive, and you're distracted."

"Okay."

He left before dawn.

* * * *

He'd left Riverside at the beginning of summer, when, wherever you looked, life was stirring: in the corn and wheatfields, in the sky, under rotting, lichen-covered logs. It was never quiet, even in the dead of night: he could step out onto the porch and listen to crickets, or watch moths fluttering around the light over the door. By contrast, November was quiet, almost oppressively so. Bundled in his coat, gloved hands shoved deep in his pockets, Sam walked across frost-stiffened grass, under a sky that was just beginning to pinken. There were no birds, no insects. It was so early in the morning that there weren't even any people on the road, either heading into town to work, or walking their dogs.

Sam found his mom's house cold and dark. Keeping his coat on, he went to his room first, to drop off his backpack and have a look around.

It was more or less the way he thought he remembered it. There were a few gaps in his bookshelf; Jim must have gone through his things. He flushed with irritation, then shook his head. What had he expected? And who cared, anyway? They were just books, and Sam hadn't taken them with him; Jim was welcome to them.

He tossed his backpack onto the bed and sat down.

He jumped up again just a few seconds later. The sudden jarring movement dizzied him – he was so tired – but he couldn't sit still. He walked around the bedroom, his glance darting here and there, resting on nothing. Then he walked out into the hallway. He was shivering hard by the time he got to Jim's room, his teeth chattering.

The changes to Jim's room were more noticeable. The walls were painted blue now; Sam remembered them as red. There were a few more bookshelves; actually, he realized as he looked more closely, some of them weren't bookshelves at all, but apple crates turned over onto their sides. Sam ran his fingertip along the spines of some of the books: Herodotus, Shakespeare, Homer, Sun Tzu, Twain, Austen, Proust, Stevenson, Wollstonecraft, Kant, Rousseau… There was no apparent order, but Sam had always believed that Jim's brain was the very definition of organized chaos.

He rose and his gaze went to the desk. Jim had taken his computer and PADD with him, of course, but he'd left behind an odd assortment of things: a turtle shell about the size of Sam's fist; a compass and protractor; a tackle box full of wires, power cells, memory cards, and other small parts; a couple of fossilized arthropods resting in a metal dish. Their mom had probably brought the fossils back from one of her missions. The dish… It took Sam a moment to realize it was actually a dented hubcap. Once he realized that, he knew it had to have come from the Corvette. Which meant that Jim must have climbed into the quarry and retrieved it before a disposal team got down there. Which meant he must have gone back that very night … the night Sam ran away.

Sam pictured Jim making his way along the dirt road with just a flashlight to guide him, then scrambling down the side of the quarry in the dark. His chest tightened as he thought about his brother picking through the wreckage of their dad's old car, looking for something salvageable, something he could keep to remind him of … what?

Then once he'd found the thing, he'd have had to climb back up and walk all the way back to Frank's house. It must have taken him hours, maybe all night. He must have been exhausted. And if Frank caught him…

Would Frank really have done what he'd threatened, and beaten Jim?

 _Try,_ Jim had taunted him – dared him, really. Sam could still hear him.

His knees began to wobble, and he took a backward step. His shins hit the edge of Jim's bed, and then he was toeing off his boots and sinking against the pillows and comforter. The ceiling, which was covered with star charts, seemed to rotate slowly, like a planet on its axis. Sam's pulse thrummed in his ears, and he shivered from his toes to his scalp. He was so tired.

Something under the pillows was making an uncomfortable lump. Turning onto his side, he reached underneath, and pulled out a brown plush rabbit with big floppy ears. It was _his_ rabbit, the one he'd had since he was a baby and thought he'd lost years ago. How long had Jim…?

Something inside him crumpled. _Oh, fuck, Jim._

He clutched Rabbit against his heart and turned his face into the pillow as the first hot tears slid along the side of his nose. He didn't try to hold them back, or bother to wipe them away. They collected on his lips and in the hollow of his clavicle, and he didn't care. He lay in his brother's bed, in his empty house, until sleep overcame him.

* * * *

His mom brought Jim home a little over a week later. She didn't comm ahead. Sam was in his room, working on an assignment for his Bio 101 class, when he heard the hovercar pull up, and the garage door open. He sat perfectly still, hardly breathing, his fingers poised above his PADD.

After a few minutes, the front door opened and closed, and he heard footsteps in the front hall, and then on the stairs. A moment later, Sam's mom appeared in the doorway. "Oh, hey, buddy," she said.

He didn't get up to hug her, even though she looked so worn out, and after a minute or two she folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the doorjamb. "Your brother's on the porch."

Sam looked at the window. He could see the porch's shingled roof, and the trees just beyond it, their branches stretching like spindly fingers toward an overcast sky. "It's cold out."

"I know. I told him he could stay outside for ten minutes, then I want him in the house. He hasn't been out in the fresh air for weeks. I was going to make some soup, if you're hungry. Not anything fancy; his stomach can't handle anything too rich right now."

Sam nodded. By now, most of the Federation knew what had happened on Tarsus IV, how an exotic fungus had destroyed most of the colony's food supply, leaving its 8,000 inhabitants in danger of starvation. How Governor Kodos had refused to call for aid, and instead ordered the execution of half the colonists, so the remaining 4,000 would have a better chance of surviving. Kodos's armed forces had acted quickly to carry out his order. With little food remaining and few weapons on hand, the colonists were ill equipped to fight back. Some, like Sam's aunt and uncle, had tried anyway, and been killed. Others had accused their own neighbors of hoarding food, in an attempt to gain favor with Kodos. A small group of tech-savvy colonists had put together and launched a crude distress beacon, but by the time Starfleet officers arrived, the death toll was staggering and Kodos had fled.

Sam didn't know how his cousin Jenny had died, or what exactly had happened to Jim. He wanted to know, but he didn't think he could ask his mom – if she even knew – and he knew he didn't have the courage to ask Jim. It was just one of the many things he figured he would never know.

He didn't hear his mom move, but suddenly she was behind him, her hands on his shoulders. He flinched.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. I guess my hands are cold."

"It's okay," he said.

"I'm sorry I didn't call ahead. I meant to, but it slipped my mind. I was just so focused on Jim. He's still so weak, and I didn't want anyone else bothering him with questions…"

" _Okay._ " He jerked his shoulders away from her. "It's okay. Whatever. You forgot."

"I'm sorry."

"I said it was okay."

The hitch in his voice betrayed him. His mom stepped around his chair, placing herself between him and the window. She cupped his face and tilted his head back. His gaze slanted sideways, away from hers, but she said, "Sam," in a tone that reminded him that she was also a Starfleet officer. His cheeks burning with shame, he met her hard, blue gaze. "Sam." She spoke his name more gently this time, and one hand drifted up to stroke the hair away from his face. "It's not your fault."

He started to shake.

" _Sam._ Do you hear me, buddy? It's _not your fault._ "

"Yes it is," he choked out. "He only went to Tarsus because I said I didn't want him in Idaho. If I hadn't been such an asshole, he wouldn't've gone. He'd've been safe."

He was tearing up again. The last thing he wanted was for his mom to see him cry, so he was glad when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him tightly against her, even though he didn't deserve it.

"Listen to me." Her warm breath tickled his ear. "George Samuel Kirk, it is _not_ your fault. _I_ sent him to Tarsus, not you. I knew you didn't want him with you, but do you think I couldn't have sent him anyway? Your grandpa's been wanting me to send the two of you to live with him for years now, ever since Jim was a baby. I could have sent him there instead of Tarsus. It was _my_ decision, my responsibility. You got that? No buts," she added, as if she'd felt the protest rising inside him. "It's not your fault."

He wanted to believe her. But the words he'd spoken echoed in his head: _I don't want Jim to come here. I don't miss him._ Words he could never take back because, at the time, he'd meant them.

"Sam." His mom pulled back slightly and cupped his face again. She didn't smile as she swept the tears from his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. "I love you, buddy. I know I've been away a lot for the past ten years. I know I've screwed up. But that doesn't mean I'm not responsible for you. It was my choice, my fault. And I'm so sorry." Through the blur of tears, he saw her face coming closer. Then he felt her lips on his forehead. "I love you," she whispered again. "If your dad were here, he'd say the same thing."

He stiffened and jerked away. She looked down at him, and understanding spread slowly across her face. "You don't believe me? Sam, your dad loved you. More than anything. Oh, honey. If you could remember his face when he used to hold you, how he just lit up. You were the love of his life. _You_ , baby. You were always in his heart. He talked about you all the time. About how much he missed you. How he couldn't wait to see you again. He kept a holo of you in his pocket, so he could always look at you. And you're so much like him. Not just your looks. You don't see it, but I do. Some of your mannerisms…" Her lips twitched in a half-smile. "I think maybe that was why I didn't try to contact you when I went to get Jim. I wanted to, but I was so worried, and you're so much like George. You remind me of the fact that he's gone, but that I haven't lost him completely. We can talk about him, you know. Any time you like."

He could feel his grief and anger slipping away from him, but he wasn't ready to let them go, not quite yet. "Dad wouldn't've run away."

"I don't know. If he'd had a difficult younger brother, and a mom who wasn't around enough… He was a teenager too, once. And he'd've been proud of you for coming back, just like I am. Wait – you didn't drop out of college, did you?" Her tone was suddenly sharp.

"No. My professors are letting me finish the semester online."

"Good. So … that means you're staying here? Until the next semester?"

"Uh. Yeah. If that's okay."

He felt the curve of her smile as she kissed his forehead again. "It's more than okay. I've missed you."

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair. He felt raw but … better, somehow. As if something big and ugly had been excised from his soul. He looked up; over his mom's shoulder, the sky was darkening, the clouds piling up like grim boulders. It looked as if it might snow.

"I didn't hear the door," he said. "Jim's still out there."

His mom straightened. "I'll go get him."

"No." Sam pushed his chair back and rose. "I'll get him."

* * * *

A blast of cold wind stung his face as he stepped out onto the porch. He hugged his arms and wished he'd put on a coat. He would have gone back inside for one, but he caught sight of Jim huddled on the stairs, his knees drawn up to his chest, his bright head bowed. Sam called to him, but either his brother couldn't hear him over the howling wind, or he chose to ignore him. So Sam closed the front door, walked over to him, and sat down beside him.

Jim turned his head, looking up at him warily, and Sam was struck by the change a year and a half had wrought. If Jim had been thin the last time they'd spoken, he was positively gaunt now. He seemed lost in his woolen coat. His cheeks were hollowed out, his pale, pitted skin stretched taut across prominent bones. Worse still, his eyes were sunken in their sockets, giving them a bruised, guarded appearance.

He didn't flinch when Sam's shoulder brushed his, but he drew back slightly.

"I don't want to talk about anything," he said.

"Okay," said Sam.

"I don't want to talk about what happened, or how Jenny died. So don't ask me. I'm sick of people asking me things."

"Okay."

"All the doctors and everybody, even Mom, they kept asking me stuff. If I wanted to talk about it, I'd talk about it."

"O _kay_. God, Jim. If you don't want to talk, _shut up._ "

Somewhat to his surprise, Jim actually folded his lips and turned away.

"Didn't mean to shout," Sam mumbled, looking down at his hands. His fingertips were already red with cold. "Are you gonna come inside? Think Mom said she was gonna make soup."

He felt Jim shrug.

"C'mon. It's freezing out here."

"Maybe I like it out here."

"It's fucking freezing."

"Well, I _like_ it," Jim snapped. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I didn't go away and stay away, like you wanted. I'm sorry you got stuck with me instead of Dad. Whatever the fuck I did to make you hate me, I'm sorry. Just leave me the fuck alone."

Sam licked his chapped lips. "I don't hate you. You're really fucking obnoxious sometimes, but I don't hate you. I just…"

He searched for the words. There were so many years of resentment to dig through, and he was so cold. He couldn't say _I'd never let anyone hurt you_ because he had, repeatedly. He'd failed again and again. He could say, _I'll take care of you from now on,_ but would Jim even believe him?

He had to say something. Jim was so hurt. His baby brother. It occurred to him that he was never going to get back what he'd lost, what he'd tossed away: almost fifteen years of companionship. That was gone, as surely as their dad was gone. But at least he hadn't lost Jim.

Sam wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders and pulled him close. Jim didn't struggle or protest. He sagged against Sam's chest, so light he hardly seemed to weigh anything. Sam held him and tried to shelter him from the wind, whispering against his hair, "I'm sorry. I don't want you to go away. I'm sorry." He felt Jim's hitching breath, felt a too-thin arm loop hesitantly around his chest, and a hand catch at a fold of his sweater. He held Jim tighter and the hand in his sweater clenched.

It wasn't one of Jim's typically grand gestures, but it was something. To Sam, it was everything.

9/12/10


End file.
